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Making Books; Getting Spooked By King's Tactic

The buzz in book publishing continues to be about Stephen King. Not because he's asking for $17 million-plus per book. Basketball players and movie actors regularly demand such sums, so why shouldn't a writer? No, the talk is about the much-criticized negotiating strategy the novelist and his agent embarked upon. Like that of a ballplayer or actor. In public.

Mr. King said he agreed with the criticism. ''We could have been smoother, but you must remember that for so many years, this was handled by the agent like a campaign manager with a candidate who runs unopposed,'' he said in a telephone interview from his home in Maine, reflecting that sales of his books were generally so gargantuan that all anyone did in negotiations was dot the i's.

''I know we did it the wrong way,'' by so publicly seeking a new publisher, Mr. King said. ''Hopefully, in the end, the talk will be about the book and not about the negotiations.''

The plumb line in most mega-dollar book negotiations is secrecy. The author's agent will discreetly call two or three possible publishers -- at the level of money a Stephen King demands, there are only a limited number of possible buyers -- and arrange for secret meetings, not an auction, of the publishers, the author and his agent.

By contrast, the current King negotiation is inarguably the most public auction ever held for a superstar author. Mr. King's agent and lawyer, Arthur B. Greene, sent query letters to a number of publishers saying the novelist had decided to leave his current publisher, Penguin Putnam.

One publisher who insisted on anonymity said: ''A letter was submitted, which seemed very weird, while King was in Australia. You have a Stephen King, you pick up the phone. You don't write a letter, the publisher meets with the author.''

This profusion of letters guaranteed talk, which in turn guaranteed questions, which in turn absolutely guaranteed bad-mouthing.

Thus, one of the most popular novelists ever, a man whose books regularly sell more than a million copies each in hardcover, was depicted in the press as suffering from diminishing sales and as being disgruntled because a stable mate at his publishing house, Tom Clancy, was making more money. Another report was that one editor who read his new novel, ''Bag of Bones,'' said it ''takes 500 pages to begin.'' One publisher was said to have described it as windy. Still, most of those who have read it said it was vintage King.

To go against the industry's ritual of secrecy can portend yet another punishment, another publishing executive pointed out: ''The biggest money deals, only the publisher and the author and the agent know. Often on big-money books, reviewers critique the bank account, not the book.''

A prominent agent who also spoke on condition of anonymity noted that ''by going public, the whole thing got out of control.'' She continued: ''The way to have done it was to have made a few calls that nobody would ever hear about, because it was all done so quietly. It's incredibly sad.''

Mr. Greene has been Mr. King's lawyer and agent for 10 years, ''and has done a great job,'' the novelist said. ''But he's not primarily a literary agent. It would not have been handled this way by an agent.''

For instance, Robert R. Gottlieb, executive vice president of William Morris, said he negotiated the move of Dean Koontz from Alfred Knopf to Bantam Books in the most customary way, by ''making a telephone call to Irwyn Applebaum, head of Bantam, and quietly arranging for him to fly to California and meet with the author.''

That's the usual procedure for a high-profile author. As one agent said: ''You call a publisher and say, 'Let's talk.' And by then, you've worked up the numbers. You don't just pull them out of the air. But it's not only about money, it's about editing, publishing philosophy, which psychology works the best.''

He added that he ''made a number of deals with the second-highest bidder.''

Publishers concede that they are usually an evasive lot when it comes to business, and generally decline to comment until after another publisher has signed up the author. Then they can say that the other fellow made an expensive mistake.

It was reported, without denial, that under his expired contract with Penguin Putnam, Mr. King earned $16 million a book, for a four-book contract, plus the nearly unheard-of royalties of 25 percent. Royalties are usually in the 15 percent range. People in publishing say that when this round of negotiations started, the asking price was more than $17 million for the new book, plus 27 percent royalties.

Moreover, the author also wanted a limit on the number of years the publisher would hold the rights to the novel. For a hardcover book, the contract usually lasts for the copyright length, which is the author's remaining life span plus 50 years. Now, one publishing executive said, ''they seem to be asking us to give them a number.''

Mr. King said of his new book: ''I'm giving it away for peanuts. I don't want to carry another big one on my back.''

He agreed that sales of his books ''are not what they were,'' and added that the period of his great successes ''had an arch.'' He continued: ''My arch was longer than that of popular comedians and musicians. I work my heart out on a book.'' Of course, an advance that Mr. King considers peanuts might support an army of less popular writers for a long time indeed.

In fact, Mr. King is likely in the end to do a bit better than peanuts, particularly if his negotiations can be brought back under control.

As Mort Janklow, an agent who represents many writing stars, said of secrecy in negotiations, ''There's money that publishers will pay privately and discreetly which they cannot and will not pay in public.''